Teufelshunde
by scatterthestars
Summary: Being a photojournalist means experiencing and seeing terrible things first-hand. For Kurt, this is more true than he would have liked to known. But slowly moving on from a horrible day, he is given the job to follow a team of Marine Recons in Iraq. It's here he meets Blaine and learns to let go of the past that still haunts him. Then he helps Blaine when he needs him most.


**This is a story idea I've had for a few months. I've been plotting it out for a few weeks now, and decided to start to posting it. I did research for this one, but I apologize for whatever I get wrong.**

**Also, the title of the story is a German word they used to call Marines in 1918; it roughly translates to "Devil Dogs."**

* * *

**2008**

Lying on the warm ground, and blinking his eyes open to the sky above him, Kurt feels as rocks dig into his back; feels as jagged edges poke and tear at his skin through his shirt. But that discomfort is overlooked as he feels pain throughout his entire body.

He tries to recall how he got here; flashes of a man yelling and pointing a gun at him run through his mind. Remembering something that sounded like exploding firecrackers and falling to the ground, he recalls crawling over to his friend, and then passing out a few short minutes later.

Trying to sit up, he cries out in pain when he attempts to push himself up on his arm only to find it sends a flare of terrible pain through him. It feels as if he just had his arm ripped off. Looking to see what the problem is, he finds blood staining his shirt where a hole was ripped through the cotton on his right shoulder. Blood soaks his shirt and runs down his arm; the deep red standing out against the paleness of his skin. Lifting his other hand, he sticks his finger through the hole in the material and winces where a bullet tore through his skin. Grazing his fingertips over the wound, a flare of pain shoots through him; pulling his hand away with fresh blood on his fingers, he feels a wave of terror and fear run through him.

Looking down to see the rest of himself, he finds the same thing on his lower left side right above his hipbone. Lifting his shirt, he sees blood spilling from where he was shot. To his side, he notices the pool of blood that has gathered on the ground from when he passed out. It's a deep, dark red and Kurt knows he's losing too much of it.

With his job and where he travels to, it is highly likely for something like this to happen. Especially in a place like this. But, six years of going out in the field and Kurt had thought he was just lucky and grateful that the worse thing to happen to him, so far, was watching someone destroy one of his cameras. But sitting here now, bleeding out and knowing this is serious, Kurt knows, now, there is no such thing as luck or grateful. It was bound to happen. The fact that it's as terrible as this is not what he had predicted.

"Kurt!" Someone yells his name. Turning to where the voice is coming from, he sees George running to him with his own shirt soaked in blood. "Mister Kurt, don't move!" he tells him, voice thick with his Somali accent.

Kurt stares down at his hands covered in dirt and a mixture of his blood and that of his friends; staring, he feels himself getting extremely tired, eyes getting heavy and having the urge to sleep wash over him. But he fights it for now.

"Mister Kurt, lay down!" George frantically tells him as he kneels in front of him and pushes him down to the ground.

Going when George pushes him, Kurt stares at the sky. It's a beautiful day. The sky is a clear blue with no cloud in sight. It's the kind of day that Kurt would find perfect for doing what he does: being outside and taking pictures. It's the kind of day that can be forgotten because it feels like any other day that he's lived.

But this day won't be forgotten. This day will be burned into Kurt's memory for years to come. He knows this day will haunt him forever. If he survives this.

Looking at his hands covered with fresh blood stains, Kurt doesn't know what to do. He feels like a bystander thrust into something he has no idea about. He feels like a child seeing the world for what it really is. He feels lost.

He lies there as George puts pressure on the bullet wound near his hipbone that bleeds profusely, feeling someone else applying pressure to his arm. Looking up, he sees a young male that smiles down at him; it's the kind of smile he's used to seeing people give someone when they're dying. A smile that has sorry written all over it. Turning his head, Kurt sees him lying a few feet from him and knows. He knew as he kneeled over him a few minutes ago. Looking back to the sky, Kurt can almost tell how he must look right now; he can imagine himself covered in blood and frightened and upset. He sees what he's caused, and that angers him.

This is his entire fault. If he hadn't pushed, none of this would have happened. If he just left it alone, it could, and would, have turned out differently. But he couldn't keep his mouth shut and now he stands here with blood on his hands and guilt weighing heavy on his heart.

"We're taking you to hospital now, Kurt," George tells him.

Kurt doesn't care. He's tired and wants to sleep, and no longer fighting it. He wants to forget what happened, and sleeping will do that. Closing his eyes, he drifts off and tries to forget what he caused. He wants to follow him.

"Don't die, Kurt!" George yells at him, slapping his cheek to wake him up.

Kurt thinks, as he only goes under more, that dying is what he deserves after this.

**2010**

"...I'm telling you again, Kurt, it's too much too soon."

Kurt sits in front of his boss' desk as he tries to make him reconsider what he's asking for. They've been at it for twenty minutes, and Kurt can tell he's slowly wearing Richard down. All he needs is the final nudge.

"I'm ready, old man," Kurt says, smiling at always getting away with calling his boss that. "I need to get out there and take pictures again."

"You do take pictures," Richard points out.

"You mean pictures of people sitting in a park living their mundane lives? Those aren't pictures, Dick. I want back out in the field taking pictures that actually mean something."

"Are you sure you're ready? Somalia was terrible, Kurt, and I don't want to send you out before you're ready." Richard looks at him in a worried and unsure way.

Kurt knows he's worried about him, and rightfully so. Somalia might have been two and a half years ago, but he still beats himself up over that day after what happened. He has yet to fully move on from it; and not knowing when he will. But he needs to get up and get out there again. He needs to do what he loves; and taking pictures is it. Taking pictures of what matters is what he loves.

"Yes, I'm ready," he answers. "I need this, Dick. I need back out there again. I can't stay here being afraid to go out again. I'm past that. I'm ready."

Richard looks at him and sighs, nodding his head. Kurt watches as he roots around in his desk for something, coming up with a single sheet of paper. "Iraq. Marine Recons. You'll be following them for a few months. Now, I can give you a different j-"

"No!" Kurt quickly cuts him off. It's not what he was looking for, but it's something. And knowing Dick, his next option might have been going to some boring state and photographing landscapes. "It's perfect."

"This is some basic info on where you'll be going. It's the middle of winter there, so pack some warm clothes," Richard informs him, handing over the paper.

Kurt takes it and reads the name Fallujah, Iraq. It's all new territory for him, but it's the change of scenery he needs.

"When do I leave?" he looks up and asks.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Am I a last second fill?"

"No," Richard shakes his head, "I was about to give it to Eric."

"He wouldn't have lasted. Guys only been out once; and that was to Mexico." Kurt arches an eyebrow as he makes his point.

"God, you're right," Richard huffs. "Now go home and pack. I'll see you in several months."

"Aye, aye captain," Kurt jokes. Standing up, he leans over and gives Richard a hug. "Thanks, old man," he whispers into his ear.

"Anything for you, Kurt," Richard sentimentally replies back, patting Kurt on the back.

Walking out of the office with a bit of a bounce in his step and a grin on his face, Kurt heads home to get ready to leave.

* * *

"Dad, guess what?" Kurt says when he hears his dad pick up.

He's been packing for the last hour

"You met someone new," comes Burt's reply as he chuckles.

"No. Nobody new." Kurt zips up his first bag and sets it aside. Hearing his dad say that, he thinks back to a year and half ago when he caught his boyfriend, Glenn, cheating on him. The break up actually felt good to do. After Somalia, trying to maintain a normal life and relationship was just too much for him to handle. He's actually surprised at how long he and Glenn lasted after he came back, now that he thinks about it. "I'm going out again. Richard just gave me a new job assignment."

"Kurt," Burt sighs on the end of the line. "I don't think you should go."

"Dad, I know you're worried because of what happened last time. But I'll be in Iraq with Marines."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Burt questions.

"No," Kurt replies. "It just means there's a less likely chance of what happened in Somalia being repeated." Kurt stops what he's doing and sits on his bed. His dad being worried for him has only increased after he learned what happened two and half years ago, and he doesn't blame him. If it was his son, he'd just be as worried and a bundle of nerves. But he needs to reassure his dad that this time is different. "I'm safer this time, dad. Being with the U.S. military should assure that."

"People still die, Kurt, no matter who you're with. No one is bulletproof. You should know that better than anyone."

Kurt takes in a sharp breath and feels tears spring to his eyes. Feeling his throat tighten as he tries to fight back from crying, he covers his mouth when a sob tries to escape past his lips.

"Shit, Kurt! I'm sorry," Burt apologizes. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

"I...I have to go, dad," Kurt says with a shaky voice. "Need to finish packing. Bye."

"Kurt, I'm sorr-"

Hanging up the phone as his dad apologizes, again, Kurt lies on the bed in the fetal position and cries. Lying there, he relives that terrible moment and wonders when he'll stop blaming himself even though he knows it wasn't his fault.

* * *

Putting his carry-on in the above compartment, Kurt closes it and takes his seat. Pulling out his phone, he calls his dad.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Burt immediately says when he answers.

"It's okay, dad," Kurt reassures him. "I know you didn't mean it."

"I'm just terrified of losing you. You're my only kid; you're my baby."

"I'm thirty-two, dad, I'm not a kid anymore. I know what I can and can't do. But, I'll be safe while I'm out there," Kurt reassures him.

"You better be safe," Burt firmly says. "I don't want another call like last time."

"Yes, dad."

"When are you leaving?" Burt asks to change the subject.

"Plane takes off in ten minutes," Kurt responds, knowing his dad will be upset he didn't get to say goodbye in person.

"Kurt!" Burt exclaims a little too loudly.

"Richard needed someone right away," Kurt somewhat lies. "It's why I called. Wanted to give you a chance to say goodbye."

"You come home safe to me, you hear," Burt sternly states; Kurt imagining him pointing at someone that isn't standing in front of him. "I don't want you hurt in any way. Dealing with that once was once too much."

"Alright, dad," Kurt chuckles.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, dad." Kurt looks at the stewardess telling him to hang up his phone. "Listen, I got to go, plane is about to take off. Bye, dad."

"Bye, Kurt," Burt wistfully replies. "See you when I see you."

Hanging up his phone, Kurt puts it away and looks out the window, knowing this is the right choice for him. Others might keep telling him it's too soon, or that he shouldn't go back out ever again, but he needs to do this for himself; to start to move on from a nightmare that it seems he can't wake from.


End file.
